I Looked For You In All Of Them
by sincerely-TheBreakfastClub
Summary: What if Simon never went back to Baz's house after the events of Chapter 61? But what if they met again in a bar years later, not knowing who they really were? Also inspired by the quote: "Then find a thousand men who look exactly like Simon bloody Snow and break each of their hearts in a different way."
1. Chapter 1

**Baz**

I found him again last night. He had _his_ curls: bronze, bloody wild, and lying every way other than flat. He had deep blue eyes, a mole dotted above his lip, and a clumsy sunshine smile. It wasn't luck. Just a terrible coincidence.

I always do this now. I stagger into a bar, drowning in the mistake I made the night before, and I try to find the bloke that looks good and golden and completely wrong for me. So I can make his bloody night, whisper all of the pretty words that never left my tongue, and run off into the darkness with the pieces of his fallen smile and broken heart in the dust. I'm still in love. Or I'm in love with that feeling. The feeling I get when my imagination takes over, and I'm pulling everything from that night, and suddenly the strange face between my hands isn't so strange anymore. Last night was cracked lips and a rattling cross that burned my throat. It was the smell of something baking or something burning. It was the feeling of fire sparked with electricity. It was _him_.

But when the night melted into dawn and the sheets were tangled and dirty, I didn't see him anymore. I saw watery blue eyes and limp curls and a smile like a cheap light bulb. I saw a terrifying stranger who I shared too much of myself with. And that _scared_ me _._ But who's going to stop this. I certainly can't do it.

Which is probably why I'm here, sitting on this bar stool, drinking whatever the hell I asked for. The bar is hot and loud. Everyone sounds like an idiot. And I am not in the mood for an idiot. I looked for him when I first came in, and I didn't see anything good or golden. But the night was still young, then. It's still young now. And the door just opened again, bringing with it a storm of stomps and rain flung onto the back of my neck. I don't turn around just yet, because if they want a game –whoever they may be– then I have to play my cards right. And I will win.

 **Simon**

I stomp the storm off of me as I walk in, because it's impossible not to stomp in the rain. The bar is warm and dirty and smells like bad choices. Which is good, because I'm in the mood to make a few. I shake my head, and water flies off my curls in all directions. A pouty-lipped woman in the corner glares at me and I smile back, not sorry at all. She rolls her eyes and turns back to her drink.

I scan the rest of the bar. A few couples sit in the back, flirting lazily over their alcohol, and the desperate singles are sprinkled in between the booths and tables. A handful of people sit at the counter, and most of them are smiling shyly as they get offers of drinks or love. The place is humming with drunk laughter and filthy words. It's making everyone stupid and happy.

All but one, anyways. He is immune to the stupid happy people as he sits on the bar stool, emotionless. He doesn't have anyone at his side or against his mouth, and it doesn't seem like he's looking for it. I know better, though. He wants someone. Badly. His eyes flicker around the room, searching for a person he knows he won't find, until his gaze falls back to the fingers wrapped around his glass. The stranger and I already have something in common.

A long time ago, just before I lost it all, I had everything.

Everything was wicked and beautiful and violent. It was too sharp to be touched and too lovely to be alive. (Dead.) It was something I never wanted until I wanted it bad. And everything wasn't even a thing.

Everything was grey eyes and a cruel smirk. Everything was black hair and long legs. Everything was the cold monster that could kiss like fire. Everything was _him._

And when you leave everything behind, it rips a hole in your chest.

But sometimes bigger things make you forget about smaller things. Giving away my magic didn't rip a hole in me. It just ripped me.

When I finally pieced myself together, the hole inside my chest was right there waiting for me. And I know better than anyone, that all holes want is to be filled. So that's exactly what I did.

I filled my chest with grey eyes and cruel smirks. With black hair and long legs. I slept with boy after boy, trying so hard to find the one who could kiss like fire, but I'm still looking. It's not like I can stop.

I walk up to the counter and order a drink, not looking at the stranger next to me. I can feel his eyes tracing me, and the corners of my mouth quirk up under his intense gaze.

I flop down onto the stool next to him and keep my eyes straight ahead, a mischievous smile playing at my lips, until I dramatically swivel around to meet this lonely stranger.

But then my ability to make any sound at all is stolen from me. My breath is stuck in my lungs and my words are caught on my tongue. Who knows what moving is anymore, because I'm frozen. Someone hit the mute button on the bar, and I can only hear his quick, light breathing. (I can't hear mine; I haven't started breathing yet.) If I hadn't been already sitting, I would have been on the floor right now. The room is spinning and my head is dizzy, so I gasp in a breath that breaks our silence.

 _It's him._

But I know it's not.

He has twilight black hair, but it's short, and swept back, showing off a pale forehead. He has grey eyes, but they're not fierce, they're cold and dim. Like his light is almost blown out. I can't tell if his nose is crooked or not, and his lips are torn. Tattoos climb and snake up his neck and arms, jagged music notes smashed together in such an unusual way that it's kind of beautiful. The dark ink makes his skin practically glow. A black V-neck advertises dangerous collarbones and the beginnings of a marble chest. Denim skinny jeans curve around his thighs and calves, showing off mile-long legs. It's not him. But he's pretty damn close.

 **Baz**

 _It's him._

But I know it's not.

Streaks of red dye are intertwined in the thatch of curls at the top of his head, and it's absolutely crazy. His ears are pierced about a thousand times: studs, spikes, and cuffs, with his hair brushing past them every time he moves his head. Red semicircles bite into his left eyebrow to match his curls, and a silver gem on the right side of his freckled nose winks at me. Stupidly soft lips are parted slightly, and his breath is coming out of his mouth in huffs. Wide blue eyes stare into mine and bring back a flood of memories that have nothing to do with the unfamiliar boy before me. Perhaps it was my drink. Or maybe I'm just losing my mind. It honestly could be the former or the latter at this point) He's wearing a graphic t-shirt that doesn't make any sense and jeans that are too tight to be fucking allowed. (They are _unfairly_ tight.) Moles are scattered across his face, neck, and arms. This boy is the strangest, prettiest thing I've seen in a long time, and the things I want to do to him are endless. But I have to remember that it's not him. Even if he is pretty damn close.

 **Simon**

"C-can I buy y-you a d-drink?" I stutter, cursing myself for the affect this stupidly beautiful stranger has on me.

He raises an eyebrow and smirks just the tiniest bit, and it's the sexiest thing I have ever seen.

"I already have one."

I blink, and then see that yes, he does indeed have a drink. _Wow, nice job idiot._

"Uh. Um uh. C-can I b-buy you an-nother one?" I ask, staring at my fumbling hands. _God! Why am I such a nervous wreck?!_

He frowns and looks down at his glass, then back at me.

"No," he says, shaking his head with furrowed eyebrows. He still looks as if he can't believe I actually started talking in the first place.

"Oh," I say, deflated at his obvious rejection. I start to stumble away from the counter when his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, pulling me right into his chest. He slides off the stool and gently releases my wrist, letting it fall by my side.

"Sorry," he murmurs, stepping closer until I'm pressed up against the counter. "I just didn't want you to leave. Please stay."

I swallow. "Okay," I whisper back, leaning forward to brush a piece of hair out of his face before I can stop myself. He leans into my touch and lets out the quietest whimper. I can't hide my smile now. He looks at me and chokes. _We kinda match._

He closes the gap between us, bumping our foreheads together and leaving our lips a moment away. One of my hands slides up his back, fingers running over his spine, and he shivers. My other hand grips his hair and tugs, his head falling forward so I can feel the groan he presses into my neck. His fingers start to comb through my curls, and it feels so nice that a small sigh escapes me. His hand finds the small of my back, and he slowly brings me closer. He kisses and bites at my neck, making his way up to my Adam's apple which he sucks on lewdly. I get a small nip on my chin and suddenly he's there, at my lips. My arms wind tighter around him and his tattoos are moving and stretching as he does. He looks at me with eyes that seem so much lighter than before, and then he smiles. And that does it. I just have to kiss this gorgeous boy. So I do.

 **Baz**

He surges forward, pushing me to the abandoned back corner of the bar, and then crashes his lips against mine. I gasp, forgetting my name, where we are, or who he is. It didn't matter. His tongue immediately slides into my mouth, and he tastes like something I didn't think I would ever taste again. I love it. Cherries are on his tongue and now it's all I can see. He's hot and fiery in my mouth, while his hands shock my lower back and hips and stomach with lightning bolts. He slides his thigh in between my legs and I see stars. His chin juts up and down while his teeth pull at my bottom lip. Kissing him is like breathing air; it's the easiest thing in the world but I'll never stop needing it. I slide my tongue into his mouth and he groans, grabbing my arse and pressing me closer into him. His curls slip between my fingers as I grab onto them, and I almost fall down when he grabs one my legs and hitches it up to his hip, holding it in place with a locked arm. His tongue presses deeper into my mouth and moans vibrate through us.

But I can't stop it. A name escapes my lips. I don't mean for it to happen. He's just always there, in the back of my mind. He never left. And as I whisper the name that broke me all those years ago, a different name is gasped at almost the same time.

" _Simon."_

" _Baz."_

. . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Simon**

It can't be him. But it is.

Why, after spending so much time looking for him, would I _actually find him?_ I was never supposed to find him. I mean, how could I? My black-haired, grey-eyed Kleenex boys were keeping me alive. Barely, but alive. Use once, throw away, repeat. I didn't deserve to ask for anything more than that. I still don't now. But then tonight happened.

And I never said my name.

He never said his.

But they still rose up, unearthed from the darkness of that December night, and into the shared breath between us. And there's no way we can rebury them.

We tear away from each other so fast someone probably lost a limb. Maybe it was the leg I was holding to my hip. Or maybe it was the hand I had tangled in his hair. But honestly, being deprived of an appendage isn't my biggest worry at the moment, because his eyes are saying 'run', and the hole in my chest hurts like hell.

It would probably for the best, if he did run. Which doesn't make any bloody sense because what even is 'the best'. I still wouldn't blame him, though.

" _What the fuck,"_ he says quietly, _"did you just call me?"_

I swallow and shake my head, tears stinging the back of my eyes.

" _How do you know my name,"_ he asks, eyes glinting in the ill-lit bar corner.

My mouth is full of cotton and my tongue is heavy.

" _You know why, Baz,"_ I whisper, shrinking back against the wall, slowly sliding down until my arms are around my knees and my head is ducked.

He pretends not to hear me.

" _Answer me, Snow!"_ He yells, in a way that's cruel, familiar, and infuriating.

But it's too much. The name, the voice, the words backed by cold hatred. That crosses a line, and he knows it. He slumps down beside me, and I can hear his head thud against the cement behind us.

His outburst brings it all back. Nightmares in a room of our own, magic sharing nursery rhymes, long denim legs, cold fangs and hot trees, and fire kisses.

I can't take this anymore.

A giant sob racks my already trembling body, and tears are falling from eyes. I can't stop shaking, and I'm choking on my heart. My chest _hurts,_ and my mind can't stop screaming at me. _I never should have left I never should have left I never should have left I never-_

And then I'm interrupted.

"I'm sorry."

 _Basilton Pitch just apologized. I never thought I would see the day._

I look at him and smile, and then cry harder.

"I'm sorry too." _I am._

His eyes widen and his mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. He shudders and a few tears roll down his cheeks. He doesn't bother to wipe them away. And I can see him. I can see _Baz._ Scared and hurt tears, but with the beginnings of a new flickering light in his eyes. Regret and worry at the surface, but proud and brave and sarcastic as hell just underneath. _I found him_. _And Jesus fucking Christ, I have missed this lovely git._

"I never should have left you," I blurt out, staring at my feet and trying to ignore the tingling pleasure that shoots through me as he shifts closer.

He laughs, loud and sad and wonderful, until he starts crying right through it. Then he laughs again, only breathier this time.

I feel his lips on my ear and I can't help but shiver in response.

"I never should have let you go," he whispers gently, and then leans back, his cheek resting on the wall, watching me with a smirk.

I copy him, so now we're facing each other, sitting in the back corner of a bar, silently apologizing for all of the unsaid mistakes we made when we were kids.

He hasn't changed and he has. His jawline is shadowy and strong, but now is peppered with red love bites. His widow's peak is gone, but his hair is still just as soft. The skin on his neck and arms is ghostly pale, but is now dominated by the spiked and ragged lines of his strange tattoos. He's stunning, but that will always be true.

I move in close, and kiss him lightly. I break away, and he tries to drag me back, but I smile lightly and shake my head.

I grab his hand and stand up, pulling him with me. I take a deep breath and look into Basilton Pitch's grey eyes.

"My apartment isn't far from here. Do you want to come over?" I ask, putting myself and everything I want out in the open, so he can see it, clear as day.

And then I wait for the answer. The answer with the potential to change everything.

"Yes, I would very much like to do that," he says.

I smile.

 **Baz**

If someone asked me how I got from the bar to Simon Snow's apartment, I would have no fucking clue what to say. We could have driven, taken the bus, or hell, walked all the way there and I would have been none the wiser. But if they asked me how many moles Simon has across his chest, I would be able to tell them exactly twenty-nine.

We still have a lot to talk about. We made so many mistakes when we were younger, and they haven't gone anywhere but stick around to haunt us. There are so many things that are still broken between us, and won't be fixed any time soon. We gave away so much of ourselves to those desperate one-night stands, that neither of us actually know how to have a real, functioning relationship.

But we can figure all that out in the morning, tomorrow, next week. Just not now. Not when the moonlight is drowning us both. Not when I can still feel his hot tongue on my hip bones. Not when I can still feel his soft lips pressing lovely words into my skin. Not when I can still remember how it felt to throw our clothes on the ground and finally see _Simon Snow._ (He's so beautiful, my god. But he's always been beautiful.) Not when I can still hear his exhausted but happy voice ask if I wanted to hear a secret.

" _Yes, I do, love. What's your secret?"_

 _He giggles and then says something that wouldn't have made much sense to anyone else, but makes perfect sense to me._

" _I looked for you in all of them. Always."_


End file.
